Occam's Razor
by Eden Lies
Summary: Spencer Reid, in his tenure as a guest lecturer at Georgetown University, is recommended by one of his colleagues, Jason Gideon, as a long-term substitute teacher of philosophy at The Morton School. There he crosses paths with Nathan Harris, a timid young student with haunted eyes and lips the color of hellfire. Criminal Minds AU. Spencer Reid/Nathan Harris slash.
1. Prologue

Hi everyone, it's been awhile! I successfully completed the year at uni and managed to move all of my things out, so hooray! In response to the temporary freedom of summer, I decided to write up the second chapter of this, and post this fic here (it's already up on my AO3 account, if any of you prefer to read you fanficcage there).

Anyhow, about the fic! As is probably evident from my other story Divergence, I've been on a Criminal Minds kick lately, and I find the dynamic and the relationship between Spencer Reid and Nathan Harris (from episode 2.11, "Sex, Birth, Death") to be really fascinating. Since I have a thing for school AUs and teacher-student relationships, I decided to take Reid, Nathan, and some of the other cast members and stick them into a university/high school setting, and see how it panned out! Reid is 25 here, and I'm assuming that Nathan is 15-16 here, as he probably is in season 2's canon.

Heed my warnings, there WILL be underage hanky-panky of some kind as well as a good deal of content revolving around depression, psychopathy, neglect, and self-harm. Given what we all know about the Nathan of canon, this kind of content shouldn't seem too surprising.

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds, unfortunately. :P If I did, canon would have stopped at the end of season 5, ahaha.

Here we go!

* * *

**Occam's Razor**

_By Eden Lies_

* * *

_**Prologue**_

* * *

A formal invitation to a one-on-one meeting with the one and the only Jason Gideon could only mean something serious had come up. Gideon, normally more content in keeping to himself, or at the very least, with keeping things casual, had pulled Spencer out of his auditorium after his three o'clock undergrad class and had asked to have a quick chat with him in his office once the day was through.

His _office_.

Despite the fact that Spencer Reid was already twenty-five years old, a holder of three Ph.D.'s, and a part-time lecturer at one of the most well renowned universities in the country, but there was just something about Gideon that brought the little boy within him back up to the surface of his skin. It was that part of him that couldn't help but to feel like he'd done something wrong, almost as cliché as stealing a cookie out of the cookie jar. Anxiety coiled low in his stomach. Reid could hardly even bear the thought of Gideon reprimanding him, or God forbid, being _disappointed _with him.

After stumbling through his last two lectures on the Philosophy of Science (_Aristotle and hylomorphism and-)_, Reid packed his materials back up in a hurry and began to make his way down to Gideon's office. 102, 104, 106- ah, there it was!

Room 108. The shiny brass nameplate adorning the door read:

_Jason Gideon, Ph.D._

_Department Chair_

_Philosophy_

He'd only been here once before (when he'd initially been interviewed by Gideon for the part-time job), and despite the fact that he'd gotten to know the other man very well over the course of his stay here, the thought of stepping back into the office and being psychoanalyzed by Gideon set his nerves alight. He took a deep breath. _Overly stuffed leather armchairs and Gideon's diplomas all hanging on the left wall, framed, about 5.1 inches apart from one anoth-_

Spencer rubbed his eyes furiously. _My name is Jason Gideon, it's so nice to meet you…that must have been hard on you, being so young…something is bothering you…Bennington Sanatariu-_

He took another shaky breath.

It wasn't that he _disliked _Gideon's company; in fact, it was far from it. Gideon was one of the most fascinating people he had ever met. No other professor, intellectual, or department chair could even hold a candle to the man whose office he was lurking in front of, just for the plain and simple fact that unlike the others, Gideon knew how to be both an academic and a person. He served as both a father figure and an ideal role model to Reid, who was painfully aware of his lack of people skills.

Wiping his slightly clammy hands on his pants, Reid finally mustered up enough courage to raise his fist begin kno-

A large hand landed on his shoulder and he heard an amused voice ask from somewhere just over his shoulder, "How long have you been standing outside?"

He was instantly flooded with embarrassment.

"Uhm, n-not too long..?" Reid squeaked, "I, uh, just didn't know if you were in."

"As you can see," Gideon said with a small smile and a pat to Reid's shoulder, "I wasn't." He paused for a heartbeat and then added, "Let's go inside, shall we? There's an important matter I'd like to discuss with you."

He dropped his hand from Reid's shoulder, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Reid followed.

* * *

Jason began with very little preamble.

"Do you know why I asked you to come here today?"

Seated behind his massive mahogany desk, glasses perched slightly lower than usual upon the bridge of his nose, Gideon looked every bit the part of the serious and aging professor.

Reid wrung his hands in his lap.

"To be honest," Reid admitted, "I've been trying to figure that out since you first spoke to me."

Gideon gave him another one of those small smiles and said, "And..? Have you figured it out yet?"

The older man's head shifted a little, and for just a moment, Reid swore that he could see Gideon's eyes flashing from behind the shield of his glasses.

_Shit_.

"Ah, well, I have a few theories-"

_(He'd heard a song, once. The lyrics...when my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light…that split the night- fireworks, neon signs, ones filled with Mercury, Hg, atomic number 80, the periodic table-)_

Reid cleared his throat.

"It's either that I'm overdue on paying for my parking, or that I've done something out of line, maybe?"

He couldn't bear looking Gideon in the eye, and so instead, trained his gaze upon a small stain on the office's carpeting. The stain, slightly red-ish in nature, was likely a sauce of some kind, perhaps a result of a quick meal eaten on the run.

"I've been trying my best, Gideon, honestly."

There was a split second of silence before Gideon said, "I never meant to imply that you weren't."

Reid's stomach was roiling. He was holding his breath, just waiting for the catch. The probability that '_I never meant to imply that you weren't, but I've just found someone better suited to the job'_ was about to come out of Gideon's mouth was a very high one. And despite the fact that part of him was angry about being dismissed so easily, the other part of him, the more pathetic one, acknowledged that he wasn't really well suited to be a teacher.

After all, he felt uncomfortable in crowds, was a poor speaker, and had difficulties aiding students emotionally. He loved knowledge and learning, but these days, he wasn't so sure that his students felt the same way.

"Spencer," Gideon said, and Reid knew that it was a silent plea for him to look up. And no matter how nervous he was, no matter how frozen he felt, he couldn't help but to respect Gideon's wishes. Reid slowly tilted his head up and shakily made eye contact with the other man.

"You've been doing a wonderful job here. Don't you doubt yourself for even a second."

It was eerie, Spencer decided, how Gideon could read his mind so well. It seemed to him, occasionally, as if Gideon were some sort of mind-reader or profiler in another lifetime. All other thoughts aside, Gideon's statement had settled most of his jitteriness and caused a warm feeling to spread throughout his body. He wanted to thank Gideon, in some way, reach out and say '_you didn't have to tell me that_', but Gideon continued speaking and the moment was lost.

"In fact, just this week I was approached by Erin Strauss, the headmaster of The Morton School," he said, "and she was hoping that we could help her out of a bit of a bind."

Gideon paused to make sure that Reid was following the conversation.

"The school is in need of a philosophy teacher to substitute for the sophomore and junior classes, Spencer. Appropriately, I recommended someone to her."

Spencer's jaw dropped, his brain whirring away-

"You chose _me_," Reid whispered, torn between happiness and disbelief, and Gideon inclined his head in a nod. The room suddenly felt like it was spinning.

"But why?"

"Because you are qualified for the position," Gideon said simply, "and because I believe that you would do a lot of good there."

"But what about Alex, Professor Blake, she-"

"Reid," Gideon cut in firmly, "I've already made my decision."

The young man fell silent.

When Gideon next spoke, his tone was much more gentle.

"Whatever it is that you may think, Spencer, I hope you know that you deserve a lot more than what you have."

"_Gideon-_"

"And that sometimes, it is okay to want to take some happiness, some good things, for yourself."


	2. Chapter 1: Beginnings

Alright everyone, here's part two of this fic! This details his first day teaching at the Morton School, and a wild Nathan appears. ;D As an added bonus, we get to see Reid as an awkward turtle.

Disclaimer: I don't own CM, and this hasn't changed since last chapter, clearly.

* * *

**Occam's Razor**

_By Eden Lies_

* * *

**_Chapter 1: Beginnings_**

* * *

The house on the corner of the street was entirely silent. All of the windows, the eyes of the home, were drawn tightly shut, as if the house was trapped in some sort of eternal slumber. There were no cars parked outside and three newspapers languished, forgotten, in a small pile where the driveway connected to the bumpy sidewalk. To any passerby it would appear as if the house was completely deserted, but those who lived in the neighborhood knew better than that.

If someone were to ask Mrs. Figgins about the house on the corner, she would say: _Oh, that's where Sarah lives, Sarah and her son. She's got some job over at the GW Medical School, and apparently it pays pretty well. What was her son's name, again..? He's a shy little thing, just a wisp of a boy. _

The Andersons, who lived two houses down, would say: _Oh, the Harris family? They're great. It's just Sarah and her son over there. Nathan, well he's great. He's a really bright and extremely well mannered young man. Goes to one of those elite prep schools, last we heard. He must be thinking up some great things right about now. _

Someone stirred in an upstairs bedroom in the corner house. The young man- Nathan- tossed and turned restlessly between his bedsheets. For a moment there was silence, and then-

He sat bolt upright in bed and screamed, his voice hoarse from many other similar nights spent living his waking nightmares. He screamed and screamed until his voice gave out completely. Meanwhile, his hands gripped the blanket so tightly that his knuckles stood out, neon-white and shockingly bony, against his already pale skin. His hands, white and clean and _not _covered in blood, ah-

The last vestiges of the nightmare dropped away from Nathan's consciousness.

He was alone.

He was alone in the dark, shut-up house, hardwood floors and empty kitchens and closed windows. No shadows of girls with smoky eyes, garter belts, and knives in their stomachs.

His fingers relaxed and unclenched themselves from the blankets.

Nathan sat in bed for a few moments and debated trying to get more sleep. But his nightshirt was sticking uncomfortably to his back and his arms. His arms itched.

And it was with the goal of sating this itch that Nathan got up out of bed, stumbled his way over to the bathroom, and closed the door behind him, intent on fulfilling his daily rituals.

* * *

In some ways, Spencer decided, he had been right all those years ago when he'd thought that he'd be stuck in high school forever. The differences were, of course, enormous: a Vegas public school couldn't even hold a candle to the plush and dignified halls of the Morton School, equipped with large and newly painted lockers, tastefully tiled floors, and perhaps most importantly, an extensive and well-organized library.

But despite all of the cosmetic differences, Spencer realized, some things were just universally true about high school. Morton's hallways were just as crowded during passing periods as any other high school Reid had ever set foot in, and it was in this chaos that he was forced to navigate the school's central building for the very first time.

It hadn't been his fault, really- he'd taken care to arrive early, but had been delayed by an uncomfortably long meeting with the headmistress of the school, Erin Strauss. Strauss's negative commentary as well as unconvinced demeanor in regards to his age, teaching credentials, and current curriculum ideas had managed to wipe away the majority of the confidence Reid had amassed after his pep talk with Gideon some weeks before. He knew it was silly to feel as if he needed to prove himself in any way, but nonetheless, he couldn't completely squash the worry.

Reid, after much squeezing and shoving, finally made it to the front of his new classroom- 25B. He took a single deep breath, and with his mind in tumult, opened the door.

* * *

Scritch-scratch. Scritch-scratch.

The blackboard behind Reid's head read simply:

_Mr. Spencer Reid_

Reid, finished with the only possible task he could use to delay what he knew was going to be an awkward introduction, turned to face the class after putting down the chalk. The students were silent and seemingly attentive, but the young man could feel the weight of their gazes upon him, sizing him up.

"I, uh, hello everyone, I-I'm Dr. Spencer Reid, and ah, I will be Mr. Rossi's permanent substitute for the remainder of the year."

Reid's jaw, barely working, managed to force a smile, but it came out looking much more pained than congenial. The class, well-behaved up to that point, broke out spontaneously in a cacophony of noise.

"What happened to Rossi?"

"How _old_ are you?"

"Does this mean we don't have to read the John Stuart Mill that he assigned to us for today?"

"Are you single?"

Reid, feeling harried, chose to flat-out ignore the personal questions that had

been tossed at him, and instead chose to interrupt the steady stream of curiosity by saying loudly,

"Mr. Rossi indicated to your headmistress just a few weeks ago that he needed to take some personal time off to spend with his wife who has fallen ill, so it's unlikely that he will be back."

The noise level quieted down a bit, and Reid took this as a positive sign.

"Even still," he forged on, "just because I am not Mr. Rossi does not mean that all of the basics of classroom etiquette should get tossed out of the window."

As Reid examined the faces of his students more closely, he was relieved to see that many of them had the grace to look embarrassed or at the very least sheepish.

A larger girl sitting in the front row raised her hand timidly.

Reid, mollified by his students' expressions, called on her.

"Mr. Reid," she squeaked, "erm, I was wondering, did we really need to finish chapter three of _On Liberty_ for today? Mr. Rossi wasn't completely clear with us…"

Reid blinked.

"Well if he really didn't explicitly set it as an assignment due for today, then I won't demand it of you all. Nonetheless, I'll be lecturing on chapter three topics, particularly the difference between free speech and true acts of instigation, so please don't fall behind."

The young teacher could have sworn that he felt a wave of relief sweep across the classroom. He smiled a little to himself.

"Now," Reid said, "is there anything else before we start?"

The class, almost in unison, shook their heads.

* * *

They were good kids, in the end. He didn't know much about each individual student, excepting their names (he'd painstakingly memorized and pored over those during the weekend), but he believed that there was hope for this class. There was hope for them to not only learn the basics of moral philosophy and social justice, but also of actually _taking something away_ from this class and maybe changing themselves just a little bit in the process.

Reid's shoulders relaxed slightly as he launched into his lecture on chapter three of John Stuart Mill's work _On Liberty_. This was his comfort zone. He knew Mill's work inside and out to the point that even nervous jitters couldn't trip him up. With his mouth and his hands gestures on autopilot, he took the opportunity to study his students. Most of them seemed well organized and well-prepared (or at least, they were they were moving their pencils pretty convincingly), and even if they weren't all naturally interested in the subject, seemed to try their best to concentrate on their notes of their small, school-issued copy of the text.

It was about thirty minutes into the class when Reid first felt the gravity of a piercing gaze fix unwaveringly upon his face. Reid did his best to not look up and eye the student responsible, but after a few more excruciating minutes, found that to be nearly impossible.

Reid turned his eyes sharply up to the back row of the classroom just in time to see a curly-haired boy drop his gaze guiltily downwards.

A lightning-quick memory: _Coffee-stained fingers flipping through the names and the photos on his attendance sheets. Scared eyes and a curly head labeled under 'Harris, Nathan'_.

Reid felt his throat constrict almost against his will. There was just _something_ about those eyes, perhaps a jaded kind of look, that struck Reid as being very odd.

The boy was thin, almost unnaturally so, and everything from his snow-white complexion to the fact that he was wearing long sleeves in the middle of a humid DC March convinced Reid that the kid was ill. He thought about asking the young man if he felt well enough to be in class, but quickly shelved away the idea.

After all, sickly visage or not, there was something else in this student that, for some reason, unsettled him deeply. Whether it was the jaded eyes or the bitten red lips or the blank notebook page in front of him-

Well, Reid supposed, he shouldn't really want to know.

* * *

How was it, guys? Please drop me a review; concrit is always greatly appreciated! I'm trying for a more straightforward/dialogue-heavy style than I'm used to, so it's a whole new journey in writing for me in that sense. :P


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